


Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me A Match

by Emeraldawn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gift Fic, M/M, Matchmaking, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-16
Updated: 2014-01-16
Packaged: 2018-01-08 22:41:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1138285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeraldawn/pseuds/Emeraldawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry was striking out with his matches from Dinner for Two</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me A Match

**Author's Note:**

  * For [subtlefire](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=subtlefire).



> Gift fic for Lj Community Owl Post. One of the requests was and matchmaking with a twist 
> 
> Thanks go to Cal for the pre-read/great ideas and to Killparakat for the beta. Love you both.

_Let us help you put the magic back in dating! We can - and will - find the perfect companion for you; satisfaction guaranteed!_ the encompassing tag line to _Dinner For Two_ proudly boasted. 

Notably, their flyer wasn’t full of of tasteless sparkly hearts and brazen gaudy fat cherubs that shot witches and wizards with confetti-spewing arrows. No, unlike the _other_ matchmaking businesses out there, _Dinner for Two_ was a generally respected establishment.

Even if they employed Draco Malfoy as a matchmaker. And not just any matchmaker, of course, but _his_ matchmaker.

“Call me a matchmaker again, Potter,” Malfoy warned with a sharp smile, continuing on in a voice dripping with sugar, “and we'll add 'impotent' to your profile here.”

“Fine. _Relationship liaison._ ” Harry corrected, though in his own head he’d call Malfoy what even he damned well pleased. Crossing his legs, Harry continued. “Still doesn’t change the fact that last night’s date was horrible, Malfoy.” 

He should have know it would have gone badly, even with Hermione’s insistence that this was a safe way to explore his sexuality. He'd only ever been with Ginny and he'd thought they were forever. Only Ginny's comments that he didn't seem very interested in having sex with her made him realize that maybe something _was_ missing. 

His first ‘match’ - Evan - had been a disaster in one of the worst ways possible: an obsessed fan who spent the whole dinner telling Harry about… Harry - or what he’d read about “Harry Potter, Hero Extraordinaire” from the Prophet, at least. Harry found there was very little overlap with “Harry Potter, the bloke who has trouble keeping his shoes tied,” which was both creepy and an eye opener on the amount of rubbish the wizarding world knew about him.

But mostly creepy.

He'd been regaled on the fact that his favorite dessert was treacle tart, that he'd hated Divination, and he owned Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle pants.

And how the fuck this bloke knew about his pants was beyond him! Harry resolved to make sure his curtains were firmly closed and spelled with all the Unperturbable charms he could throw at them without them disintegrating.

Harry should have known the date would go poorly when dark eyes flicked up and down the length of him and the man announced, rather unashamedly, “I thought you’d be taller.” 

Harry was half-convinced--okay, more than half-convinced--that Malfoy had done it on purpose. The prick! At the first opportunity--also known as the second he finished casting those charms on his curtains, he had stormed into Malfoy’s office, completely interrupting the session the _matchmaker_ was having, and demanded a match who wasn’t interested in what his Witch Weekly spread would be in next issue.

“I’m not interested in being treated like some big hero who needs his ego stroked!”

The man in the chair opposite Malfoy’s desk mumbled, “Oh my, will you look at the--I’ll just wait outside, shall I?”

Malfoy didn’t even seem to notice him scramble out of the room, his eyes focused and glaring at Harry. “That’s news to me. I thought you’d like Evan. He had simpering down to an art form.” Draco’s eyes tore themselves away from Harry as the man made a note on the parchment in front of him. “Fine. The preference is now in your file. May I go back to my appointment now, or does the Great Harry Potter still require my attention?”

Harry scowled and left. It took all his willpower not to turn around when Malfoy muttered, “Don’t consider yourself special, indeed.”

Malfoy’s next ‘match’ was billed as a _more traditional family man_. The wizard was a pureblood looking for his fourth spouse. Harry left wishing the man luck, after being told he “would do.” Harry had an uncanny feeling that the wizard thought Harry to be a Granian up for stud services.

This time when Harry stormed into Draco’s office, he only managed to halt centimeters from a witch who was just leaving. 

“Potter, I know it looks like I’m free to chat about the weather over tea and biscuits, but I’m booked today,” Malfoy didn’t even look up at Harry. “Perhaps you should make an appointment?”

“Malfoy, what in Merlin’s name gave you the idea that a man looking for his next bed warmer would be a good idea!?”

“Your profile said you were looking for someone who was interested in family and traditions. Alexander is exactly that.”

“The man is looking for his fourth, _fourth_ , husband and old enough to be my father! I don’t have anything in common with a person like that!”

Malfoy yanked a file out from a stack beside him, letting it fall out as he dropped it on the desk. He grabbed a quill and hastily scribbled as he spoke. “Age range to be low to mid twenties, and attitude a balanced mix between crazed stalker and bed warmer.”

“Malfoy...”

“Yes, Potter, I have it noted.” Malfoy looked at him for the first time since Harry walked into the office. “Don’t forget to make an appointment on your way out and we can have a _proper_ chat sometime next week.” 

 

Bryan was different: a surprisingly handsome man that engaged Harry in conversation, laughed at his jokes, and didn’t order food for him because he’d read about Harry’s preferences in some gossip magazine. It was turning into a pleasant date, the best he’d been on since he and Ginny split. Harry found himself truly enjoying it while inevitably waiting for the catch.

And when said catch did show up, it smacked into Harry with all the force of a bludger. It was over one of the best Sherry truffles he’d tasted, when Bryan started going on about how Harry’s lithe torso and long legs would make for a form-fitting dress and garters. He even went so far as to admit he had a great corset, the perfect shade of green to complement Harry’s eyes. 

Harry wasn't one to judge other people’s lifestyles, but he liked being a man and looking like a man and not tucking his manly parts back up into his body, thank you very much.

“So, last night’s date didn’t go well, Potter?” Malfoy asked smugly after Harry dropped into the chair across from him the next day. This time he caught Malfoy during an appointment-less morning. Storming the office without an audience did take a little wind out of his sails.

“No, it did _not_ go well! I know you’re doing this on purpose, Malfoy.”

“Doing what?” he asked innocently. Innocence Harry didn’t buy for a second. “I am matching you with wizards according to your profile.” He sniffed. “Maybe you don’t know what you want.”

“A corset, Malfoy! This bloke was great until he wanted to dress me in a _corset_!”

“What you do in the bedroom Potter is not-”

“Finish that sentence, Malfoy, and you’ll have a tail!” Harry was not at all impressed with Malfoy’s smug grin. It just proved that the smug bastard was - smuggy.

Okay, so he was a little too put out to be clever. That didn’t change the fact that he thought Malfoy was doing this as some sort of sick torture revenge tactic. Probably for his own twisted humor. 

“Fine, fine, Potter. So how would you like to change your preferences now?” Malfoy picked up Harry’s ever-growing file."You haven't given me much to work with." His eyes scanned the length of it. "Hmm, generic, uninspired, trite. Did Granger help you with this?"

“I don’t see why that would make a difference, Malfoy.”

He fingered the first page. "’Seeking a male within a deviation of three years on either side of your own age, with a focus on family and Quidditch.’ Shocking.”

Harry scowled at Malfoy, his condescending _relationship liaison._

“You want someone who can know you without being sycophantic over you. Someone who can keep up their end of a conversation while keeping you engaged in it. Someone who welcomes a challenge and who won't be intimidated by the limelight your notoriety attracts." Malfoy looked back up at Harry, pausing as if he was expecting a response from him. “This is the barest of bones, Potter. No personable hobbies or interests, other than Quidditch. No life goals for either you or your ideal partner. No sexual preferences.”

“I don’t see why I need to tell you what I like in the bedroom, Malfoy.”

“It’s very important, Potter! This is the blueprint for your future _husband_.” Malfoy closed the folder and tossed it on the table. “Without it, you get dates like last night.” Leaning forward, Malfoy grabbed Harry’s attention, locking their eyes together. “What makes your body hum, Potter? Do you find yourself longing for long slow caresses? Taking time with your lover as you explore each other? Mapping every detail with your fingertips? Waking up together, limbs entwined, nothing but your body heat keeping you warm?”

Malfoy ran his tongue along his lower lip, moistening it, before sitting back in his chair. Harry found himself somewhat hot under the collar and in need of a glass of water. It had been a long time since anyone had caused a reaction like that in Harry, and that it was Malfoy of all people was more than worrying. He clearly needed a shag.

“That’s why you need to be detailed with what you want. Try to draw the clearest picture of your perfect someone. Take another copy of our questionnaire home, go over it with a fine tooth comb, and owl it back. I’ll send you a _proper_ match within a week.”

 

The next three 'matches' were miserable failures - and Harry truly bloody hesitated to call them 'matches' because, really, what in his profile had led Malfoy to think he'd be well-suited for a grown man who owned three yorkies, each with their own room and complete winter and summer wardrobe? Part of him didn’t want to know, though.

So, he was back in Malfoy’s office, _again_.

Malfoy frowned at him, but Harry swore he saw a gleam of mischief in his eyes. Malfoy’s voice sounded like it was pitched with mock sympathy. “What a shame, Potter. I thought, when I came upon Melvin’s profile, he would have been a cinch for a prefect match up.” 

“I think this just solidifies my assumption that I am completely un-matchable, Malfoy.” Harry sighed. “The only thing this is managing to do is depress the hell out of me. Maybe I should have stayed with Ginny and made things work. It would have been a sham to me, but at least I wouldn’t be alone.”

Malfoy looked down at the file on his lap, briefly pausing before look back at Harry with a sigh of his own. “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way, Potter. Describe your perfect date for me.” 

Harry stared up at the ceiling. "Someone who's nice to me. Someone who wants to hear about me and not who they've read about in the Prophet. Someone who'll pull out my chair for me. Someone - someone," Harry stopped and looked back at Malfoy with a smirk, "Someone who's the exact opposite of you, Malfoy. Someone who cares about my well-being and doesn't treat me like an idiot."

Harry had meant it to be a joke but Malfoy's expression had gone thunderous. He looked back down at Harry's folder with his lips pursed and said, tightly, "I see." He cleared his throat. "I'm sure I can find someone to meet that then."

 

True to his word, Malfoy owled him three days later, setting him up with a wizard named Elliott. Elliott didn’t have any strange kinks, but he also couldn’t get a joke to save his soul. The man was positively humorless. 

“So, you're saying he was dull?” Malfoy tapped the leather arm of his chair with his ring and middle fingers. 

“The man was stuffier than a Christmas goose!” 

Malfoy’s lips curled into a marginally noticeable smirk, before schooling his features to Malfoy’s default blank setting. Harry rubbed the dampness from his palms on his pants. Malfoy had reverted back to wearing the a professional mask and was distant in these interviews. Harry didn’t know how much he had missed the newer Malfoy until now.

“Odd, all his other matches never mentioned this. Most recounted that he was amusing and charming.”

“Really? Then why are you still trying to find someone for him? Trust me, that man is too tight and straight-laced. I’m looking for someone who will bring in more witty levity.”

Malfoy stared at Harry, unwavering. Harry squirmed a little in his chair. “Okay, Potter, if you say so. I’ll find someone else.”

 

The next date Harry went into with heavy trepidation. He didn’t know if it was the date, or that these string of matches were getting to him.

Thomas was pleasant; maybe a little too pleasant. He joked. He asked about Harry. He knew how to pick out a good wine.

Harry was bored. 

It wasn’t that Thomas was overly boring; he just didn’t stimulate Harry. All throughout the friendly, good-humored conversation, Harry longed for someone who would challenge him. Someone who would argue with Harry about how horrible the Cannons last game was, even if Harry rooted for the team because of Ron. Or give Harry those little pushes that made him want to be a better man, even if Harry pushed back at first. 

When Thomas was telling Harry about a crup emergency at work, Harry’s mind was thinking about Malfoy and how, tomorrow, he had to tell him to look for another match. 

 

Harry didn’t think that he’d ever seen Malfoy’s eyes bug out as much as when Harry requested for him to keep looking.

It was kind of cute.

“You want to run that by me again?” 

“Look, Thomas was a nice guy. An admirable bloke. But maybe too amiable.”

Malfoy sat there and blinked at Harry for a few heartbeats. “Merlin’s beard, Potter, that doesn’t even make sense! That’s three synonyms for the same word.” Malfoy looked at Harry as if he doubt the man could cross the street safely. 

It was a slight break of character from the cold, stiff Malfoy he had been meeting with these last two times, but it was still enough to make Harry’s pulse quicken. Harry missed that Malfoy: the one who would let him fight with him and call him out and treated Harry like a normal idiot. 

He wanted to see that Malfoy, not the uptight, closed off act. 

“- I interviewed a perfect canidate for you today. I’ll set something up for you tomorrow.”

Harry blinked three times rapidly. “Sorry, what?”

“I have a new client that I think might be exactly what you're looking for.” Draco closed Harry’s file and stood up, turning himself away from Harry. “I’ll owl you the information.”

“Malfoy, I -”

“Don’t worry, Potter, _we can - and will - find the perfect companion for you; satisfaction guaranteed_. It’s my job.”

 

When Harry met Cormac, it was like Malfoy had spelled him straight from Harry’s description. He asked Harry all the right questions, gave equal amount of time talking about himself, and had a quick wit, as was revealed when he got Harry to actually laugh. 

The man even pulled out Harry’s chair.

The problem was, during what should have been the best date since he and Ginny broke up, Harry compared everything, _everything_ , to Draco. Would Draco order that? Draco would have had a little more smirk with that comment? How would the candlelight from the single candle on the table have reflected off Draco’s silvery hair? 

Harry didn’t sleep a wink that night, and it was present on Harry’s face as he entered the offices of _Dinner for Two_ the next morning. Tossing and turning in bed only managed to give him a headache, a wandering mind, and the most appalling case of bedhead. 

“Potter, you look absolutely dreadful this morning! Do you get pissed last night?” 

“Merlin, Malfoy, I wish I did.” Harry let his body drop into Draco’s leather chair. 

“So you're here to tell me how this was another unpleasant pairing?” Draco asked, picking up Harry’s worn file as he sat across from him.

“Quite the opposite. Cormac had every personality trait I asked for.” Harry didn’t need a mirror to know his smile was hollow. “But I’m not interested in a second date.”

Malfoy’s perfectly sculpted features melted into an uncommon look of confusion. “Want to fly that by me again? He’s everything you’re looking for, and you _don’t_ want to see him again?”

“Yes. Because last night I figured out something, Malfoy. You asked me what a perfect date would be, not my perfect _mate_. Having a picnic under the stars might make a perfect date. But nightly? It will get cool, boring, and my arse will start to hurt from sitting on the ground night after night.

“While Cormac was a perfect date companion, for the rest of my life, we wouldn't fit.”

“Potter, that is the most absurd thing I have heard come out of your mouth, and that’s including most of your conversations with Weasley and Granger! Why would you think that? Cormac and you could get along famously!”

“Because, Malfoy, the whole night I was thinking of someone else. Someone that would do more than be nice to me, or listen to me, or just _care_ about me. I need someone who understands me. Who will challenge me to be a better person. Someone who would find family and friends to be important. Someone who knows what I want, even before I do.” 

Harry held Draco’s attention as he slid himself to the edge of his seat, body just that bit closer to Malfoy. “I need someone that will call me out when I’m wrong. A person who can be an impossible arse. A man with fog-gray eyes, and hair so blond, it glows in the moonlight.”

Draco’s breath quickened, but his eyes never broke contact with Harry. “Sounds like you already know this person, Potter.” 

Harry laid his hand on Draco’s right knee, rubbing the thumb across the top. “Yeah. I have a pretty good idea. I don’t know if you have anyone like that in your files.”

A wide grin spread on Draco’s face. “Hmm… I think I have someone who would fit the bill.”

 

“Guess who was on their third date, Blaise?” Pansy sing-songed her way into Blaise’s office. “That’s one bet won, by me.”

“Morgana’s tit! I was so close! Two more days…” 

“Please! You underestimate those two. It was bound to happen.”

“Don’t go all Hufflepuff on me, Pansy! It doesn’t look good on you,” Blaise drawled. “Those two have been playing ‘pull-the-pigtails’ for so long, I didn’t think they would do anything else.”

Pansy just hummed in half agreement. Blaise wasn’t far off. Potter and Draco were thicker than dragonhide when it came to what most Slytherins had figured out in their Hogwarts days. 

“You know, Pansy, it’s almost like they had a little help. And we promised that you couldn’t use magic to win this bet.”

“Oh, Blaise, love doesn’t need magic to help it out.” But if love had a little help by someone owling Harry Potter the company flier and giving the receptionist some hard-to-procure fine chocolates from Switzerland to schedule Harry with Draco for his intake appointment? Who was she to tell.


End file.
